


Just Stop Getting Hurt

by Lovefushsia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Clothes keep getting torn, Derek keeps getting hurt, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Minor Injuries, Sharing Clothes, Stiles Stilinski Fixes Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovefushsia/pseuds/Lovefushsia
Summary: Derek can't stop getting hurt in monster fights and he seems to seek out Stiles for comfort every time.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 5
Kudos: 308





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a really long time since I've posted (or written) and this has been hanging out in my Googledocs for months, as per usual. I've just finished it so here is the first part :D

“I wish you had a proper home,” Stiles murmured, not really thinking about the words he said as he held the bandage in place with one hand, reaching for the tape to fasten it with the other. He looked up and met Derek's eyes and he blinked in surprise to see the sadness there, replacing the pain for a moment. “Woah, I mean, like, I don't mean so that you could be there and you wouldn't need to come all the way over here. Just, someone to be there for you, you know?”

Derek's face softened a little, eyebrows raising a little from their furrowed position. “I don't come here because you're good with bandages, Stiles.”

“Really?” Stiles said softly. He knew Derek didn’t actually need the medical help of course, but for whatever reason he tolerated it from Stiles. “Why is it then?” he went on, keeping his eyes fixed on Derek’s wound. “All roads lead to Stiles? You always have your worst fights over this side of town? Does that mean all the truly terrible baddies live near the sheriff?” He finally looked up, alarming himself suddenly at the thought of his dad being in any more danger than his job already placed him. “Should we move?”

“Stiles.”

Stiles stopped himself from talking by chewing on his thumbnail while he looked back at Derek with wide eyes.

“I was on the preserve,” Derek said, slowly. “Tonight, when I called you. I was by the old house.”

“You were?” Stiles said, sitting back, winding a spare strip of bandage around his fingers.

Derek nodded, easing back on one hand while he held the other to the bandages just under his ribs. Whatever he'd fought this time, Stiles was very grateful that the slashes to his body were more superficial than they sometimes were.

“I'd never let anything get close to the sheriff's home. To you,” Derek added. 

The words made Stiles’ stomach flip and he really didn't know why. Derek protected each pack member, even outlying members of the pack, like Stiles and his dad. Stiles was happy to have someone else looking out for his dad. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“'S ok. Thanks for helping me out,” Derek said, running a hand over his torso.

“No problem,” Stiles said, gathering up his supplies and tucking them into his t-shirt drawer out of sight. 

“If you're ever busy… or don't want to see me, just - I don't want to put you out.”

“I don't mind, dude, you know I'm always down to help out,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded for his shirt, bloodied, torn up, and Stiles went to his dresser to pull out one of his own. He tossed it to Derek, who caught it before it hit him in the face. “You can't wear that one, I'll get rid of it, ok?”

“That was one of my favorites,” Derek said sadly.

“Well then you shouldn't wear your best shirts to a wolf fight,” Stiles told him.

Derek's frown was quickly lost inside Stiles' blue t-shirt, one that stretched tight across Derek's chest and arms, over his bandaged abs.

“Ok?” Stiles asked, prepared already for Derek to make his usual swift exit.

“Still doesn't fit,” Derek grumbled, standing up. 

“At least you have all your limbs attached, look on the bright side. And... I'm sorry about your shirt,” Stiles said, shrugging a shoulder.

“I'll uh…” Derek pointed to the window with his thumb, already half turned that way.

“Oh, yeah, sure, see you next time, dude,” Stiles said, slumping down into his desk chair and throwing Derek a half-wave. Derek frowny-nodded back at him, and then he was gone.

***

Three days later Derek was back. This time he'd torn his jacket, only a little in the shoulder but Stiles almost felt more upset for him about that than the gash in his skin.

“What the hell? How do you keep doing this to yourself? Can't you call Scott in time to help? Or even me? And then I could call him, or maybe get there in time with my bat.”

“No,” Derek growled definitively, and Stiles stopped his organising of supplies while he stared at Derek in bewilderment.

“You don't think I could handle it? You know what, Derek, I've seen and handled more shit by this point then I ever expected to. If you need help then I wanna be there - maybe we could stop you bleeding out quite so often if we worked as a team.”

He had begun to ease Derek out of his jacket as he spoke, not able to maintain any anger in the face of actually needing to help the guy.

“I don't want to involve you,” Derek said softly. “I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

“That's not your decision, dude,” Stiles told him, shoving a bloodied cotton pad into his trash can. “We're involved just by association.”

“Yeah, well you shouldn't be.”

“Do we have to go through this every time? Just… try to stop getting hurt, ok?”

“Right,” Derek said noncommittally. Stiles didn't believe him for a moment. 

***

Stiles found a shirt to replace Derek's torn up one. Turned out Derek had expensive tastes and apparently he shopped online even though he pretended to know nothing about technology, because this particular shirt was an online exclusive. Stiles sighed and tapped in his details, he had savings. He didn't mind buying Derek a replacement if it maybe made him think twice about getting blood on it again. 

“Stiles, what… how...?”

“It's a shirt, that's all.”

“You fixed it?” But it was clear it was a new sweater as Derek turned the soft fabric over between his fingers. “You bought a new one? This wasn't cheap.”

“Huh, yeah, I noticed,” Stiles chuckled. “But it's fine,” he added when Derek looked like he was going to freak out. “I had a little extra this month. I wanted to get it for you.”

“Why?” Derek asked, fitting his thumb the wrong way into the hole at the end of one long sleeve. 

Stiles wanted to see him wearing it, to see if the fabric fitted as snugly over his torso as the previous one. But Derek laid it out on Stiles' bed before Stiles could make up anything less pervy to tell him, and then sat heavily, clutching his thigh.

“Shit, Derek,” Stiles said. “You've messed up your best jeans this time?” He crouched down at Derek's side trying to get a look. 

“No, my leg got crushed is all. No actual clothing damage this time.”

Stiles took Derek's hand gently from his leg and sure enough there was no blood, no tears in the fabric, nothing to suggest injury if it wasn't for Derek's obvious discomfort.

“You're healing though, right? You're ok?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine, just need a few minutes.”

“So you didn't come over for me to patch you up? Are you sure? Because I don't think you've ever been here without a reason before, dude, and it's kind of weird.”

“Stiles,” Derek cut in, just watching him while Stiles rocked on his heels and gestured about the place wildly. 

“Hmm?”

“It's not weird.”

“Feels weird,” Stiles murmured.

Derek lay back against Stiles' bed and closed his eyes and Stiles stared. “You sure you don't need anything? Ice pack? Heat pad?”

“I'm fine, Stiles. You should just do whatever you were doing before I got here.” 

Stiles shook his head. “Nah, I don't think so,” he said quickly.

Derek opened one eye and watched Stiles as he cupped his cheeks, which were clearly warming and Stiles really wanted to be alone right now. He rubbed at his face and looked away, went to tidy the books on his desk, reordering things pointlessly, and when he looked back to the bed Derek's eyes were closed again.

“So, you're just gonna take a nap? Ok then… I guess I'll just-”

“I'm not sleeping, I'm nearly done healing, then I'll be out of your way.”

Stiles sighed. “You know, if you ever just considered hanging out with me instead of only ever surprising me with random injuries, then maybe I'd know what to do with you when I don't actually need to help you.”

“You don't have to do anything, I said I'm fine.”

“Yeah, but what do you do when you're just hanging out?”

“I sleep,” Derek said flatly.

“Wow, ok. We really need to broaden your repertoire there, buddy.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “We do, huh?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I’m sure we could work something out, like movies? Games?”

“I like to sleep,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles felt his cheeks heat again - what the hell was wrong with him tonight? Derek wasn’t interested in playing Red Dead 2 with him. “Sorry, sure. You go ahead. I'm uh… I'll just,” he trailed off, gesturing behind him and finally turned and pulled open his bedroom door, shutting it with a quiet snick and heading downstairs. 

His dad was already in bed by the looks of it, and Stiles had to admire how nothing woke him when he was sleeping between shifts.

Stiles poured a glass of juice and grabbed a bottle of water, a pack of hidden cookies, and headed back up to his room.

Instead of finding a sleeping Derek, he found an empty bed, an empty room. Even the window was shoved fully closed. Derek really had made sure to remove all trace of himself; he'd also taken the new shirt. Stiles sighed and sat down a bit heavily on the bed and opened up his cookies. He was halfway through the pack when there was a knock on the window. Stiles looked around and there was Derek again. 

“It fits,” Derek said, as he came halfway back through the window.

Stiles stared at him, then his eyes roved downwards to that sweater, deep burgundy covering taut muscles, long sleeves with Derek's thumbs poking through each one.  _ Oh God _ , Stiles hadn't seen anything as good as Derek in that sweater. Probably never. His jaw crunched closed onto a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie and he chewed on autopilot as he continued to stare. 

“Looks good, man,” he finally said, avoiding spraying the room with crumbs.

Derek moved one corner of his lips into a smirk which made Stiles swallow quickly and then nearly choke. He managed to stop coughing in time to watch Derek retreat again. Then Stiles collapsed back onto his bed and contemplated his life for a while as he stared at the ceiling, a smile never quite leaving his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

More blood than Stiles could handle, that was what this was. It was too much. Too much red. Stiles liked red. But not liquid red, not red wine; cranberry juice was just bleurgh; tomato ketchup, yeah that was ok, but it wasn't really liquid, a little more thick, viscous, was that the word? Kind of like blood… Oh God, there was so much blood. 

Derek said he was already healing but the fact that Boyd had actually carried him here, to Stiles’ front door even, meant that it was pretty bad. Unless it was just that the others had to get back to the fight now that Derek was safe with Stiles. Because despite the pretty much instant gagging that Stiles hadn't been able to hold back as soon as he'd seen the bloody shirt, the blood seeping from the gash in his arm under his cuff, between the fingers of his blood-soaked palm… despite all that, he was taking care of this, he was doing his best for Derek. 

The look on his face was one Stiles hadn’t really seen before as he began to get his hands on the shirt, to see how bad it was, to see Derek's other wounds. And now there was blood on him too, several soaked hand towels lay in a heap beside the couch and Derek was watching Stiles with this pinched expression on his face, and he really couldn't say the words 'please just let me use the shower' one more time without either of them having a breakdown. Stiles wasn't allowing that much blood to flow into his dad's bathtub. He had this. 

“Ok,” he finally said aloud. “I guess I'm done here.” He didn't meet Derek’s eyes, kept them safely on his recently bloodied torso, where, if he looked closely he could see the skin knitting itself fully back together along the seam of the deepest Alpha-made gash.

Stiles felt himself shaking at the same time Derek apparently noticed it. Derek's hand took hold of his, mostly wiped clean but obviously recently bloodied. The quivering worsened until Stiles clutched his fingers tighter around Derek's and found himself being pulled up off his knees.

“Stiles,” Derek said, urgency in place of resignation now, as he looked closely at Stiles. “It's ok, you're ok.”

“I know I'm ok, Derek, it's not me who got hurt again. It's just a bit of blood, I know that… dunno why I feel so crappy.”

“It's ok,” Derek said again, bringing one hand up on top of Stiles'. “Could be shock?”

“Yeah, although this happens so often I should be used to it, right?”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let them bring me here.”

“You weren't really in a position to argue, not when you first got here,” Stiles told him.

He relaxed his grip on Derek's hand and wiped his free hand over his tired eyes. “It's fine,” he said. “I mean, it's not fine for you to keep getting hurt, but it is fine that you come to me for help. Because I want to help. If I'm not out in the field-” Derek barely repressed a growl at that thought. “-well, then at least I can be here for the aftermath. Huh,” he added in what might have been a chuckle if he could find amusement in much of anything right now. “Never really saw myself as a medic. That's more Scott's role, isn't it?”

“He's a vet,” Derek said flatly. “I'm not an animal.”

“I know. Far from it,” Stiles agreed softly. “How're you feeling?” he asked, ignoring the idea of any dog jokes for now, he could hold them back when he had to.

“I'm good,” Derek answered. “But how about you?” He wasn't letting go of Stiles' hand. 

“Better, I'll be fine, maybe sleep would be good.”

Derek nodded. “I'll go,” he said, standing and looking so badly as if he'd been in a collision with another werewolf's claws.

“You don't have to go, my dad's not back until breakfast. If you don't mind leaving at daybreak you can stay here, borrow a shirt at least…”

Derek was already shaking his head. “It's a warm night, I'll be fine.”

“Then, let me drive you,” Stiles said, reaching for his keys on the side table.

“No, Stiles, you've done enough.”

“Will you quit being so stubborn? Seriously.” Now Stiles felt like stamping his foot. He wanted Derek to stay - why was that so hard to get across?

Stiles tore off his own shirt and thrust it at Derek, pulling a hoodie from the back of the couch as Derek watched him wide-eyed. 

“Just put it on, please?”

Derek tugged it over his head, then his chest and Stiles had to look away, zipping up the hoodie over his own chest as he did. “Ok, well, I need to do some laundry, and get to bed, so yeah.” He nudged the pile of ruined towels with his toe and muttered, “Better get on that.”

“Stiles.”

He looked up and into Derek's slightly frowny, beautiful, rainbow-eyed face. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said, hoarse but honest. He sighed heavily, not able to repress it, letting all his exasperation rush out, watching Derek leave, knowing it wouldn't matter at all if Derek noticed.

***

“Derek? Oh my God, are you bleeding again? What happened?”

“Stiles, shut up and take this,” Derek muttered, as if Stiles could just easily focus on that wounded voice when Derek was standing at his back door wearing blood, mostly. And of course he could damn well concentrate on Derek’s voice at any volume, but this wasn't acceptable - not again. Not the quiet softness of Derek trying and failing to appear not as badly hurt as he clearly was. 

He took the proffered brown paper bag of… something, and held it gingerly with one hand while he took Derek's arm with the other and helped him through the doorway into his kitchen. 

“What is this anyway?” he finally asked.

“For Deaton. He needed a body part.”

“What the hell, dude?” Stiles cried, and dropped the thing on the floor.

Derek just glared at him. 

“You come here, bleeding out in my kitchen - again - thrusting random body parts at me, and you want me to just accept that this is my life now? What the hell? I should kick you straight back out that door.”

Derek raised an eyebrow as he leaned precariously against the kitchen counter. 

“Ok, ok, that's not gonna happen. But you know,” Stiles said, already reaching for the under the sink emergency box, “just once, maybe I'd like five minutes warning that you're nearby, that you're gonna be bringing your sorry ass here for my help.” 

Derek was watching him, still leaning but seeming a bit stronger already. “Could I get a glass of water?” he asked, and Stiles cursed under his breath and pressed a palm onto Derek's shoulder manoeuvring him to a chair. Derek went easily and Stiles poured the water, apologising as he put it down. 

“You know, I do heal by myself,” Derek said, after a long drink.

Stiles frowned at him, tugging on Derek’s shirt to reach the wound. “Yeah, so do I, what's your point?”

“I mean, quickly. I heal. You don't need to-”

“Oh-shit… right. You mean you don't want me to-” He backed off, sitting heavily in another chair.

“No, I didn't mean that,” Derek said. 

“You do want me to help?” Confusing was just the way this conversation was going to go. “Because that looks deep man, I'd prefer to clean it at least.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Thank you,” Derek said softly. 

Stiles sighed, feeling really bone-fucking-deeply tired suddenly. “Ok, lemme see,” he said, and got to work, feeling Derek's eyes on him the whole time.

He took the body part with him when he went, back out the kitchen door, leaving only a small patch of blood for Stiles to clean up before his dad saw it. Stiles had the urge to go with him, make sure he got to Deaton’s safely. 

What was it with this guy? Stiles had a protective nature, always wanted to be there for the people he cared about, he always wanted to keep Scott safe, make sure his dad ate properly, but Derek was something different. He just couldn’t get through a week without getting too deep into his own obsessive protection of his pack, and Stiles wanted it to end. He just wanted to wrap him up, in something softer than that damn leather jacket. Just see him safe and warm and not dragging himself into Stiles’ life looking as if he’d nearly died. 

He threw the paper towels he’d been using into the trash and flicked off the light, glancing through the window into the garden. There were two glowing pinpricks of light out there, electric blue shining right at him from the end of the garden, closest to the woods. Stiles blinked, shaking his head a little and when he looked back they’d gone. 

“Stay safe, Derek,” he whispered. 


	3. Chapter 3

Derek knocked at his front door next time, not his window, not the kitchen, his actual front door, by himself - not being carried, fully able to walk, arriving at Stiles’ home for no obviously apparent reason. Kind of like a visitor. And Stiles found himself looking Derek up and down and trying to find signs of any injuries. When he couldn’t find any he was therefore confused. Very confused. “What the hell? You're ok?” he said, still looking at him suspiciously. 

“I'm not ok,” Derek said. 

“You look ok,” Stiles told him. “What's happened?”

“Nothing, right now. Nothing's happened.”

“Ok, well, you uh, you want to come in?” Stiles asked, unsure.

“Yes.”

Stiles stepped aside, let Derek walk into the hallway. He couldn't remember Derek ever being in his hallway before, other than being carried through it into the living room to the couch that one time.

He closed the door with a gentle snick, his dad was asleep for sure but it was second nature by this point to be quiet when he was home. Purely for supernatural reasons of course, not just if he and Scott were having an online battle, then nothing could be ruled out. But Stiles always felt bad if his dad was disturbed.

“Stiles?”

He'd zoned out, Derek was staring at him and Stiles was leaning against the front door gazing at him. 

“Yeah, all good here, how about you?”

“Uh, yeah… can we… sit?” Derek asked, so tentative, Stiles was sure he wasn't himself. Like, literally not himself, possessed even. “Stiles, I'm not fucking possessed.”

“Okay, sorry, man,” Stiles murmured slowly, damned internal monologue voicing itself again. He pushed off the door, walking away before thumbing over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “Drink?” He started making coffee even before he heard Derek come up behind him into the room. He stood for a moment, not saying anything, just watching Stiles when he peeked over his shoulder. 

“You want sugar? Milk?” Stiles asked, not turning around. He'd never made Derek a hot drink and he was suddenly realising it. 

“However you take it, thanks.”

Stiles nodded and neither of them said anything else while he finished the drinks. “So, uh, you wanted to sit?”

Derek looked around as if just now becoming aware of where he was. He pointed to a kitchen chair and Stiles shrugged, agreeing to the possibility before changing his mind. “Yeah, living room?” he suggested.

Derek nodded, taking the mug Stiles held out and waiting for him to lead the way. 

He sat on the couch and Derek sat too. On the couch, a foot away from Stiles, casually taking up a part of Stiles' non-lethal-activity space. Stiles didn't mind. It was intriguing, seeing Derek here, in his house when he or his betas didn't think he was dying. “No blood,” he mused. 

Derek looked over, eyebrows raised in question. “Sorry,” he said in a tone which said,  _ is that not good _ ?

“No, sorry,” Stiles said quickly, “it's a good thing. Definitely a good thing. Just-” He wasn’t sure how to go on. “Did you want to talk? Research something? Or you were just passing by…?”

Stiles was thrown because normally he didn't find himself in situations like this these days. Awkward, unplanned, non-life-threatening situations. They were somehow easier to manage than this.

“Talk? Yeah, we could… if you..?”

_ Oh God _ , Derek was clearly as thrown by the whole thing as Stiles, despite it being him who'd turned up here with no injury to distract Stiles from… well, from  _ Derek _ . If he wasn't distracted by having to patch him up, by red everywhere - well, now all he could see was soft, messy brown hair, a jacket with sleeves that were too long, a tight, clean white t-shirt underneath, and beautiful rainbow eyes that were looking so intently at him he was compelled to look away.

“Ok, talking, right, so, what kind of day did you have?” Stiles said, going straight into it.

Derek opened his mouth to respond, seemed to think better of whatever it was and sighed. “Yeah, it was ok, quiet.” 

Stiles nodded, took a sip of coffee, burned his mouth a little and cursed, blowing across the top of it.

“How about you?” Derek asked, watching him. 

“Had some classes, free period last thing, so I came home early and made some food, caught up on some stuff. It's good to keep ahead you know, in case…”

Derek's eyes narrowed a little as he said, “In case you get interrupted, by me, with injuries.”

“Well, no, I didn't mean-”

“I don't want to get in your way, Stiles.” He looked down and Stiles thought he'd gone quiet again but he added, “You mentioned hanging out. I thought we could try it.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, genuinely surprised by that. Not even wishing that he'd had forewarning, this was almost too much. Derek wanted to hang out - with Stiles? This was huge.

“I don’t want to be just with you when I need you. I mean, I want you to know me a little better, if you want to. I’d like us to get to know each other.”

Huge? Oh God Stiles could feel himself sweating already. This was ridiculous. Derek looked as if he thought Stiles may refuse this, might not want to have him here or to get to know him. He had to put it right, right now, oh God.

“Yeah,” he croaked, clearing his throat and starting up again, “yeah we should do that.”

“Ok,” Derek said, nodding a little, sipping at his coffee and pulling a face for only a fraction of a second, possibly because Stiles had accidentally tipped in three sugars, but neither of them was going to mention it. 

“I’ve tried to stay out of trouble,” Derek said, setting down his drink. 

“It’s been three days.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed as if that was a big enough accomplishment. “I wanted to show you I could do it. I don’t always get hurt. I’m capable of not getting hurt.”

“I know you are dude. And I really appreciate you managing to show up here unharmed.”

“I should have called though, right? I shouldn’t just turn up.”

Stiles frowned. “What is this, Derek? Since when do you care about the rules of social behaviour? If you want something you go right for it, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t- I want-” He stopped with a sigh and went to stand up.

“Wait, Derek, what- Oh fuck it, why is this so hard?” Stiles said, exasperated. “Will you just sit down? We don’t even have to have a normal conversation, just sit and be here, with me, not life or death, just, can we try that?”

Derek swallowed and sat back against the cushions. He nodded. “Sure.”

Stiles sighed again, relieved but also curious. Could they actually do this?

“How’s your dad?” Derek asked after he’d looked at his feet for a while.

“He’s doing good.” 

“Good, that’s good. What about school?” he asked, reaching for his coffee again.

“Yeah, good, you know, as good as school can be, I guess.” He needed to step this up a little. “How about you? What’s a day in the life of Derek Hale when he’s not being attacked by deranged monsters?”

Derek frowned a little and then shrugged and answered, “I worked out, went for a run, almost joined the library, but I-”

Stiles breathed ever so slowly, wondering what Derek had been about to say. Finally, he had to ask. “But… what? You like to read, right?”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, absolutely I do, it’s just… well, it reminded me of the house, of life before… and, well, we had a lot of books.” He smiled, actually smiled to himself. “Both Mom and Dad loved to read. I miss it, that time.”

Stiles nodded in silent acknowledgment, watching every move of Derek’s features as he went on. “I’m caught between wanting to replace those lost books and leaving the past in the past. Does that make sense?”

“Oh God yes, absolutely,” Stiles said, his voice coming out way louder than he had meant it. “When I decorated in here,” he waved a hand around to encompass everything, “I toyed between keeping the same colours, because Mom had chosen those before… well, you know what happened, right? But in the end I used a different pallet because I kind of knew Dad and I needed something new at that time. It made sense to do that. So yeah, I think I do know exactly what you mean…” he trailed off and suddenly he wanted the floor to swallow him up. Derek was staring at him with a slight frown and Stiles felt like he was either about to walk right out of the house or shove him through the wall. He didn’t want either of those things so he bit both his lips together and just waited it out for a few more torturous seconds. 

Finally, Derek’s face eased up and he nodded slowly. “Yeah I guess you do.”

Stiles let out a huge breath and just let the next words come out in a relieved random torrent of nonsense. 

“So I was reading chemistry earlier, and did you know peanuts aren’t actually nuts? They grow under the ground, who knew? And a cashew, on the tree, it looks so weird man, it comes out of this pearshaped weirdness, pops right out the end and there we have it - the humble cashew. Brazil nut? Grows inside a freaking coconut shell - all those nuts in their shells all stuck inside. I’m so glad I’m not allergic to nuts. Or cheese. I like cheese.”

“Cheese?”

“Cheese. And artichokes. Not, like together or anything, urgh I had them on a pizza once and nearly choked man. Ha, choked by an artichoke, get it? But, no, cheese melted all over it was so wrong. So wrong. Do you like artichokes?”

Derek was staring at him like he couldn’t even believe what he was hearing. He nodded though, slowly. “Yeah, I like artichokes. And cheese. Separately.”

Stiles grinned widely. “Are you hungry?”

Derek nodded again. “Sure, what are you thinking?”

Before Stiles could speak first they both said, “Pizza.”

There was a lot of eye contact while they waited for the food. Derek didn’t seem to be able to take Stiles seriously after the artichoke thing and Stiles couldn’t help giving Derek seemingly pointless but incredibly relevant facts about himself and asking increasingly pertinent questions of Derek: favorite color, favorite ice-cream, favorite day of the week. Whatever was going on here, whether or not it ever happened again, Stiles was committing it all to memory: green, Phishfood, Friday. Then he began to think of other incredibly relevant things he wanted to tell Derek about himself, and even more he wanted to know about Derek. 

_ Have you been to any other countries? What happened the first time you changed? Do you want any help with the loft? _ Stiles got a glare for his trouble for that one. “I’d love to help you dude, I’m really good at decorating, look around you - you think a full-time sheriff could manage all this by himself?”

“Did you get the art-side from your mom?” Derek asked softly.

“Hmm, I guess so,” Stiles answered, keeping his eyes lowered while he allowed her image to sink in fully. He loved when her face would come to him from nowhere, it felt like she was visiting him somehow.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, tentative, leaning in a little, trying to catch his eye. “You ok? I’m sorry, if-”

“Uh, no, yeah I’m good, sorry, just kind of zoned out for a sec.” He smiled up at Derek. “I love my mom.”

“I do too,” Derek said, and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder before dropping his hand. 

Stiles smiled sadly and they were quiet and contemplative until the knock on the door alerted them to the pizza. 

***

He couldn’t even put his finger on how it changed afterwards, after the sharing. It was just different, great different. Sometimes Derek would text first, sometimes he’d just turn up, sometimes he’d have food, other times there would be blood to clean up first, because this was Derek. But he seemed to be looking after himself a little more since the ‘big talk’. If he was getting into the middle of things and leaving it to the rest of the pack to finish up, Stiles would be very surprised. Maybe it was just coincidence that he wasn’t in pieces each and every time, but Stiles could only be grateful because he wanted Derek whole and happy and able to talk to him, able to think about the stuff that made them each tell each other secrets. Not like confessions or anything, but enough details were being shared that it felt fucking monumental. 

They’d gone from Stiles talking way too much about nothing important and Derek hardly saying two words, to… this. Stiles found himself excited just at the thought of Derek arriving. When he got those texts his heart rate went through the roof every time with excitement and anticipation.

And then it happened. Stiles was awoken by the front door opening and his dad’s voice and he gingerly raised his head from where it had been on Derek’s actual thigh and  _ oh God _ had he fallen asleep on Derek? And Derek was still asleep, on Stiles’ couch and his dad was right there and watching them with an expression that Stiles wasn’t able to read right now. He had to head this off before his dad got crazy; also before Derek woke up and realised what had happened and never came here again in case Stiles got too cosy with him again. 

“Hey, Dad,” he managed in a stealthy whisper. “This is totally not what it looks like.”

“What do you think it looks like, Stiles?” his dad stealth-whispered back.

Stiles sat all the way upright and gave Derek a glance over his shoulder - so peaceful when he was sleeping, he could see why the guy enjoyed it so much - before standing up and tugging at his dad’s arm to move them out of ear-shot. His dad willingly went along with the manhandling which Stiles took as a bad sign, given the circumstances - maybe he was just stunned. 

“Ok, so I know it might look bad, but it’s not, I promise you, we were just hanging out and we fell asleep, there’s nothing more to it.”

His dad’s raised eyebrows and silent judgment told Stiles he definitely thought differently. 

“How often does this happen? Don’t you think you should have mentioned you had a boyfriend?”

“Dad, no, it’s not- he’s not- Look, it’s a one off, ok? Nothing to worry about.”

“So you’re telling me that if you came home to find me cosying up to someone on the couch that you wouldn’t freak out?”

Stiles had to frown at that. “You have a girlfriend? You never said anything, who is it, the lady from the sandwich shop?”

His dad was glaring at him now, hands folded over his chest. And oh, right. 

“You see what I mean, right?” Dad said.

Stiles nodded, head down, totally called out. “I get it,” he said, looking back up at his dad. “But I swear, Derek and I - we’re just friends.”

“All right,” Dad said, raising both hands in apparent defeat, although Stiles was pretty sure he wouldn’t drop it that easily. He nodded his head towards the living room, where he was facing the couch. “You want to maybe discuss this thing with Derek?”

Stiles peered around over his shoulder and his eyes widened as he spotted Derek watching them both. “Uh, hey, Derek, morning,” he said, attempting to appear as if he hadn’t just been discovered discussing their relationship with his dad when they hadn’t even discussed it with each other. 

Derek just stayed perfectly still and didn’t change his expression at all and Stiles felt his dad moving off into the kitchen. 

“So, I uh… guess we’d better talk about this,” Stiles said, uncertainly. 

Derek watched him for a moment longer before his eyes roved to the kitchen. “Your dad’s out of earshot,” he murmured, nodding in that direction. “Unlike a couple minutes ago, when you thought I was.”

“Ah, yeah, right, sorry about that,” Stiles said, moving a little closer. “What part did you hear exactly?”

“All of it. Werewolf, remember?” 

Stiles flopped forward, arms and head hanging down in defeat. “So you wanna talk about last night?” he said, looking up enough to see that Derek was still watching him. 

“Last night?” Derek said, giving nothing away.

Stiles stood upright again, ready to take this on. “Dude, I fell asleep on you, and you let me, ok? I know you would have been able to feel it, and I’m not saying I deliberately used you as a pillow, but the fact is I did and you didn’t stop me and… well, what does that mean?”

“It means we were both tired and we fell asleep.”

“Together,” Stiles pointed out.

“Well, yes, in the same place.”

“On the same couch. Touching each other.”

“You were touching me.” 

Stiles let out an exasperated sigh. “So, did it bother you?”

Derek shook his head slowly. “No. If it had you would have known about it.”

Stiles let a grin take over his lips. “Did you like it?”

Derek frowned and Stiles swallowed hard, grin fading.

Then Derek smiled and Stiles felt kind of like prey for a second before Derek said, “I liked it. I like having you close.”

Stiles let out a breath and felt his skin get shivery. “Cool,” he said. 

“I should go, let you talk to your dad,” Derek said.

“Yeah, sure, ok,” Stiles said, turning in a half circle and then back again, wondering if he should ask Derek to stay for breakfast and wishing he could do it without hesitation. But he didn’t want to take too many risks after what Derek had just admitted. One step at a time.

“How about lunch later?” Derek asked and Stiles grinned.

“Yeah man, that sounds awesome.”

Derek nodded. “See you later, Stiles.”


End file.
